


A Study in Piracy

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Doctor John Watson, Eventual Johnlock, Hurt/Comfort, John's Inner Monologue, John's blog, M/M, Pirate Sherlock, Rating may change as plot progresses, Rum, Seasickness, Sherlock talks in his sleep, canonballs, or does he?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-18 11:29:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2346899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pirate!Lock AU. Set in the time of tall ships and flamboyant pirate costumes, Sherlock and John meet under very different circumstances, and yet strangely familiar. Join them on the high seas for a tale of adventure, danger and vague innuendo. All the familiar cast will appear as we progress and tags will be added as needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A very different meeting

"Shall we make it an even 1000 Guineas then Mr Watson?"

John felt sick. 1000 Guineas was a King's ransom to him. The man in front of him may as well be asking him for his left leg for all he had the ability to pay. He should never have begun this game and he certainly shouldn't have continued to pay once his purse was empty. But his hand had been good...so good...just not good enough.

The tall, dark man sitting opposite smiled. It was NOT a pleasant smile. Something in equal parts predatory and proprietorial, as if he was being assessed and had already been claimed. He imagined lions, not that he'd ever seen one, looked at prey the same way. Yet to be acquired, its fate already sealed. No....it was NOT a pleasant smile.

Not to say the man wasn't pleasant to look at. An odd juxtaposition of dark and light, black Captain's uniform and riotous hair against too pale skin. An air of effortless style that was in no way effortless at all. And all the while those piercing blue eyes raked over him as if John's functional street-wear was insufficient to cover his stocky frame.

"You'll need to grant me a few days to secure the funds Captain Holmes, I don't carry such a large amount on my person."

"A pity, as I'm to sail on the morning tide and I make it a rule to never leave debts behind me; it seems we'll need to consider alternate means of repayment."

John swallowed against the dryness in his throat, his tongue peeking out to reflexively wet lips before speaking again, "I'm not sure I know what...."

"I am, as I said, sailing on the morning tide. I find the prospect of having a man such as yourself," the clinical assessing gaze was back, "a....medical man, aboard to be a not disagreeable one."

"A medical....wait, how did you know I was a Doctor?" John placed the remains of his whiskey carefully down on the table.

"Obvious really, you have neither the hands of a manual labourer nor a man of the sea. Your language marks you as learned, but you don't wear the suit of an administrator, so you're not a lawyer or a banker. The way you hold your glass and manoeuvre your playing cards speaks of a profession needing a delicate touch, and the eye-glasses sitting upon the bridge of your nose of fine work undertaken indoors. So....Doctor. But for some reason you're not practicing, your simple clothes speak to that. So...hard times. Unlikely to be the result of an unfortunate medical outcome, more likely your skill with the knife has been effected by an injury. The way you hold your cards would make a musket-ball to the left shoulder most likely."

"Astounding!" John shook his head, blinking at the rapidly delivered analysis.

The Captain startled back at the reply, "You think so?"

"Absolutely astounding."

"That's not what people usually say."

"What do they usually say?"

"I'll cut ye, ye stink'n pile o' rat spit." he paused for a moment before continuing, "Things usually get quite violent after that."

John couldn't resist the urge to laugh, and the corresponding twitch in the face opposite relieved some of the tension at the table. If he were honest with himself, the prospect of a sea voyage was not disagreeable to him either. Putting aside the loss of 1000 Guineas, the evening spent at cards with this man had been a most enjoyable one. Clearly the man was highly educated and they'd spent the time in lively banter about all manner of topics. Additionally, getting out of the smoke and grime of the city, a city fast becoming unaffordable for an injured sawbones, held its own attraction.

"Why would you want a Doctor, one you said yourself was unable to cut, on your crew?" John asked carefully.

"Oh there is a very great difference between the level of expertise expected on a ship versus a large city like this. I'm quite confident you can very capably look after whatever needs I have of you during the journey."

John tapped his glass idly on the table top considering his options. In truth, the decision was already made but it wouldn't be wise to concede so swiftly. A pattern once set is hard to break, "How long is the voyage to be?"

The man looked thoughtful, "Difficult to say..." He leaned forward until the brim of his pirate's hat sat barely an inch from John's forehead, "Why? Do you have a burning need to return that I haven't deduced?"

John knew he was beaten; somehow this strange man had read every thought and knew his quarry was already in the net, safe and secure. He sighed and then smiled with unconcealed excitement, "Where do I board?"

@@@@@

**2 weeks prior – The office of M Holmes, Esq - British Government**

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, Sherlock.”

“I have the impression that you aren’t asking at all, Mycroft.”

Mycroft’s lip curled slightly, “Of course you have a choice; there is always a choice, Sherlock. It’s simply that one is less…..problematic for you than others.”

Sherlock sat rigidly in the chair, refusing to give his brother the satisfaction of seeing him pace, but unable to stop his hands curling into fists atop his thighs. “And whose fault is that, dear brother.”

“Really Sherlock, you can’t blame me for the consequences of that evening. After all, my men weren’t to know you’d be there.”

Sherlock looked at his brother in distaste, he hated being outwitted, least of all by Mycroft, but he had one last ace up his sleeve; Mycroft thought he didn’t want to undertake this mission. In fact, the opposite was true. A ship, the high seas, impersonating a trader, hunting down other pirates…it was a dream come true. The question was, how could he best turn this opportunity to his advantage?

“Alright, I’ll go, but I choose my own crew. I won’t be burdened with idiots.”

“Agreed. But you’ll take Lestrade as your first mate. I want my man there with you. To…assist.”

“To spy, you mean.”

“To……relieve you of the burden of administrative reporting, shall we say.”

“You can say whatever you like, we both know what you mean. Any other….stipulations.”

“Just bring the ship back Sherlock,” Mycroft paused before quietly adding, “and yourself along with it.”

“Sentiment, Mycroft?”

“Practicality, brother dear.”

 


	2. All aboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning finds our crew ready for boarding. Time to settle into their new lodgings.

John stood in the watery light of early dawn, craning his neck up at the majestic ship, sails furled, the sound of water lapping between the wharf and the side of the enormous vessel.

Brushing aside a momentary feeling of anxiety at the scale of this reckless endeavour, he surveyed the mountain of boxes, crates and barrels being carried aboard by a seemingly endless stream of crewmen. So, he thought, a trading ship. The sharp tang of tobacco, tea and spice gave him hints on the cargo, but in truth there could be any number of things hidden in the various containers.

“John.” The voice came from behind him and he turned to see Captain Holmes striding down the pier, hand outstretched, “So glad you’ve taken me up on my offer.”

“Captain Holmes.” John replied with a firm shake.

“Sherlock, please.” They took a moment, standing side by side, looking up at the ship that would be their home from now on, “I see you found her.”

“The Baker? Odd name for a clipper.”

“The previous owner came from a family of…well..bakers I suppose.” Sherlock looked to John and then let out a light laugh. It was the first time John had seen any true merriment from the man and the way it briefly lit up his face, softening the skin and forcing creases around his eyes, made him want to elicit that humour again.

“I suppose so.” John chuckled back. ‘When do we board?”

“Right now.” Sherlock turned, the long white plume in his hat bounced as he turned away and the tails of his opulent black Captain’s coat parted around long legs as he strode up the gangway, his crew wordlessly making way as he went. John hurried to follow.

“Sherlock! My dear.” John heard the woman’s voice long before he saw her.

“Mrs Hudson.” The reply came with evident fondness and John was startled to see him embracing a short, older woman in clean but serviceable kitchen attire at the top of the gangplank.

“John, this is Mrs Hudson. She runs the ship.”

“Oh Sherlock!” She waved his statement away. “I run the kitchen.”

“She’s been with me for years. I helped her out when her husband was arrested for a rather nasty business involving an alehouse and several chickens.”

“You got him off?”

“Certainly not. That outcome wouldn’t have suited us at all.” He leaned to hug the woman again and she gripped him hard, leaving snowy handprints against the black fabric.

“Not at all.” She chuckled back, somewhat darkly, before releasing him.

“Mrs Hudson, this is John, he’ll be travelling with us. Like you, he has some skill with a knife, but unlike your victims, his are intended to survive.”

“Oh, get on with you! He means the food John….the food.” She swatted him on the arm, giggling to herself like a much younger woman as Sherlock smiled at her. “The Doctor’s cabin is available, if you’ll be needing two rooms?”

“Well, of course we’ll be needing two….”

She laid a gentle hand on John’s arm, “Oh, don’t worry dear, we get all sorts. Mrs Turner has married ones on The Scarlet Wit.”

“Let’s get you settled. Introductions can wait.” Sherlock lead John away before further details about ‘Mrs Turner’s boys’ could be revealed.

The Doctor’s cabin, as it happened, turned out to be adjacent to Sherlock’s. Containing a small bookshelf and treatment space, in addition to the small nook for his cot, it was relatively spacious compared with John's expectations for a ship this size. Having stowed his bags, Sherlock led him across the narrow hall to the Captain’s cabin.

Situated at the front of the ship, it had the luxury of better light by virtue of a series of forward facing windows. He was reasonably sure that a good quality desk lay beneath reams of papers and maps atop it. Similarly, there were signs of two comfortable chairs nestled into a corner of the room, surrounded and covered with yet more papers. The room, overall, felt oddly domestic for a trading ship and John hoped the voyage may offer the opportunity to spend some time here, talking with its fascinating captain.

In the far corner, Sherlock had somehow managed to have a rather opulent bed installed. A far cry from the standard ships bunk, the bed’s warm timber gleamed faintly in the early morning light and the sheets, although unslept in, looked comfortable and welcoming. He reflected on the sorry little cot in his own room then banished the impossible thoughts to the middenheap where they belonged.

As if he could read John’s thoughts, Sherlock said calmly, “You are, of course, welcome in this room whenever you like John. In fact, I’d appreciate the company while I work. I seldom use the bed, but when I do, studies have shown that a good quality bed is essential. Don’t you agree, Doctor?”

John nodded dumbly, choosing to ignore the possible innuendo. No need to jump to conclusions and potentially damage a nascent relationship.

“Now,” Sherlock interrupted his wayward train of thought, “I need to get this ship underway. There’ll no doubt be the usual crew squabbles and knife fights as they establish hierarchy and I should supervise it. Feel free to stay here, I’ve made a point of having the latest medical journals provided for you.” He paused at the door to his cabin before turning slowly back.

“John….You’re a Doctor…..” Sherlock had walked back to stand in front of him, looming into his personal space.

“Yes.” John looked up at him, undaunted.

"Any good?"

"Very." He replied simply.

“Seen a few scuffles in your time, a bit of blood I’d guess.”

“Quite a bit, more than enough.” John whispered.

Sherlock’s eyes flashed, “Want to see some more.” He whispered, just an edge of danger to the words.

“Oh God, yes.”


	3. Group dynamics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As John finds his feet on 'The Baker' he begins to meet key members of the crew.

As Sherlock strode onto the deck, all eyes turned to him. It was more than simple respect to their Captain, there was something magnetic in the way Sherlock filled a space, commanding attention from all around whether he sought it or not. He nodded toward a couple of crew as he passed, a subtle but clear sign and John wondered who these select individuals were, to have been so favoured. 

Sherlock paused mid-deck in front of a tall grey-haired man. From his uniform, John guessed First-Mate or similar importance.

The man nodded toward John, “Who’s this?”

“He’s with me.” Sherlock replied tersely

“Yeah, but who is he?”

Sherlock leaned into the man’s space, “I said….he’s with me.” Before continuing his journey across the deck

It wasn’t difficult to ascertain where they were headed, the boisterous sound of laughter and fighting giving clear direction to their path and the tight cluster of men and women provided the last signpost, parting as Sherlock approached the outer ring of spectators.

He looked down to John and whispered low, “The man on the deck having his windpipe crushed is Anderson. I don’t know the man doing the crushing, but he’s gone up a notch in my regard. Anderson’s an idiot.”

“Still….shouldn’t you stop them?” John looked on worriedly as Anderson’s face went an alarming shade of red.

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully, “Mmmm, perhaps. It would leave us one short.” Seemingly from nowhere, Sherlock produced a riding crop and swung it down firmly on a barrel at his side. The percussive snap against the timber startling everyone to silence as focus shifted from the man on the deck to the Captain of the ship.

“Not that we aren’t all enjoying the entertainment…..” Sherlock looked down at Anderson, coughing and gasping for air, “But are we ready to sail?”

One of the crew that Sherlock had acknowledged earlier pushed to the front of the crowd, “Yes Captain, we’re just waiting on your word.”

“Very good Lestrade, have the crew get us underway and meet me in the cabin. Are there any other injuries, our new Doctor is itching to get his hands dirty.”

The man Sherlock had called Lestrade shifted to look at John properly, his appraising gaze taking in his good quality but well-worn clothes. John stood a little straighter under the scrutiny, silently waiting for the outcome.

“A couple of scrapes and cuts, but young Molly has a nasty gash on her arm from a loose box strap. She could do with looking at.”

“Take John to see her, then come to me.” Turning to John he added, “John, I’d appreciate you joining us when you’re finished seeing to our cabin-boy.”

John hadn’t expected to be included in crew discussions, but although he felt out of his depth, was oddly pleased to be invited to participate. As he followed Lestrade toward the stern, he found himself looking over his shoulder, watching as their Captain imperiously ordered crew members around.

 

@@@@@

 

“Molly?” Lestrade called into the shadowy room. “I’ve brought the new doctor to see to your arm.”

As John’s eyes adjusted to the light, he found himself on the verge of sneezing in response to the array of herbs and plants tied in bunches and hanging from the rafters overhead. As Lestrade walked through the gloom, his head and shoulders brushed against the low hanging bounty and a fine cloud of dried leaves and buds sifted to the floor.

“Greg? Oh….” The delicate woman ducked out from behind a beam and her smile seemed to suddenly clear the air, “…Hello.”

“John, this is Molly. Molly….John.”

“John Watson.” John held his hand out to shake and then pulled it back as he noticed Molly was holding a fabric patch to one forearm with the palm of the other. “That looks nasty.”

“Well, it’s not going to kill me, but it’s not a scratch either.”

John was used to women who waved fans and swooned insipidly, yet he immediately suspected Molly was made of sterner stuff. Dressed in standard canvas trousers and linen shirt, her hair was plaited and wound around her head, secured with a floral bandana, seemingly her only concession to her sex.

“May I look at it.” He reached a hand toward the cloth and she nodded, her lips pursed in a tight line.

Lifting the edge carefully, John was gratified to see the blood sitting idly in the gash, rather that flowing or worse, spurting. The greatest risk would be muscle damage and festering, both of which he was confident he could mitigate.

“It’s shallow, but long. You’ve been lucky. We’ll patch it and wrap it. If you keep it clean, all will be well.”

“That’s as I thought then. I’ve had a hard hand on it and held it high since it was cut.” She replied. “I was just about to cut some Yarrow and Goldenseal to make a paste, unless you object?”

“No…no, not at all. You know a little about herbs then?” John looked up at the dried plants on the rafters with a new respect.

Lestrade laughed behind him, “More than a little. Our Molly is something of the wise woman. She’s been at sea since she was a tiny lass and our crew are well used to gathering plants from all over to stock her medical larder.”

John was immediately on his guard, the last thing he wanted to do was cause dissention on the ship and if Molly was their ‘unofficial Doctor’ then treading on her toes would be a serious offence. “Oh, um, well I’ll be pleased of your assistance during the voyage, I dare-say you know this crews ills better than I ever could hope to.”

She smiled again, open and easy, “And I dare-say you’ll have your hands full just looking after the Captain. Word is, he’s taken a particular interest in you. Yes indeed..if that’s so, you’ll have your hands more than full.”

John’s brow furrowed at the comment, but rather than asking questions he may not want the answers to, he instead got to work cleaning and dressing the wound, working happily side-by-side with Molly as she cut and ground herbs. At some point Lestrade excused himself to meet his earlier commitment to Sherlock and once Molly’s arm was tended, John followed.


	4. All Hands on Deck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the ship gets underway, we make an unwelcome discovery about John and his breakfast makes an unexpected return.

The noise level on deck hit John like a wall as he closed Molly’s door behind him. The ship was a cacophony of shouts, crashes and hollow wooden thuds as John made his way to the bow, the tang of the salt air and cry of a Herring Gull a portent of days to come.

John was relieved to close the door of Sherlock’s cabin behind him, Sherlock’s welcoming smile, Lestrade’s less so, beckoned him to the large desk they were working at.

Lestrade explained the route and possible difficulties they may face, Sherlock nodded quietly, occasionally pausing to explain a nautical term to John and ensuring the Doctor understood. After a time, the movement of the ship changed. The firm, stable floor underfoot began slowly dipping and tilting as the vessel was gently manoeuvred away from the dock.

At first, the new sensation of movement was fascinating to John, his eyes drawn to the bow windows, watching as clouds moved across the limited field of vision. His attention split between the papers on the table, the voices of the men with him and then back to the blue sky outside again. He distantly heard the loud snap of sails as they were unfurled and then felt the ship begin to make progress in earnest. The gentle side to side rocking become a more determined forward to back roll as they faced into the waves in port.

It was an odd sort of sensation, John thought, distracted, this feeling of the ground being not quite firm underfoot, the input from his eyes through the window jarring with the lack of motion from his feet.

“John….” Sherlock looked at him quizzically, “Did that make sense? You look confused.”

“No…I…Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

Lestrade made a dismissive noise and repeated himself, John thought it was something about winds, and coastlines, but his mind kept shunting back to the odd dichotomy of his eyes telling him they were moving and yet his feet telling him they were not.

Suddenly Sherlock was standing in front of him, a look of concern on his face, “John…are you alright?”

“Yes…I think…I feel very odd.”

“He’s looking a bit green Captain.” Lestrade’s voice held a note of amusement.

“Yes…he is. John, have you ever been to sea before?”

“No..I....” Oh! John thought, his stomach giving a sudden alarming lurch.

Swiftly, Sherlock was guiding him through the door of his cabin and to the closest railing, Lestrade’s laughter following them. John’s legs felt shaky and he was glad of the strong arm guiding his steps.

“I’ll be fine….I just need some air. I’m feeling better already…” John leaned heavily on the railing. In fact he felt anything but better. He felt increasingly wretched as the horizon stubbornly refused to hold still and his stomach enthusiastically tried to match its ebb and flow, completely out of synchronisation with the rest of his body.

“Oh Sherlock, he looks awful.” Molly’s voice was at his elbow, comforting and calm.

“Mmmfftt.” Sherlock made a non-committal noise, standing to one side with his arms crossed. “Let’s give him five minutes. This will go one way or the other.”

John already knew which way this was going. This was going up….shortly to be followed by this going out. He made one last abortive sound of dismay before the remains of his breakfast made a hasty exit over the side.

Lestrade had moved to stand with them. His tone amused but sympathetic, “Ah well, better out than in they say. You might feel better now…Then again, you might not.”

That last part was added as John again made a valiant effort to jettison what little remained of his stomach, coughing and retching against the bitter taste.

“I’ll start grinding the Peppermint and Ginger.” Molly muttered and took off over the deck.

“I’ll make up his cot….and get a bucket.” Lestrade added, moving away.

“No,” Sherlock stilled his departure, “I want to keep an eye on him. I won’t be able to work if he’s in his own room. Put him in my bed, he can rest there.”

Lestrade paused, frowned, and then nodded without further comment and continued to his task.

“Oh God, I’m going to die.” The plaintive voice addressed the thundering waves as much as anyone else.

“No John, you’re not. You’ll want to, you might even beg me to kill you before the day is out, but I promise you…you won’t die. I’d be lost without my Doctor.”

@@@

 

In the end, it was three days before John’s constitution adapted to life at sea. Three miserable days filled with Ginger tea, buckets, moans and fitful nightmares of being tossed like a ragdoll between mythic giants.

Throughout it all he was tended by the no-nonsense practicality of Lestrade with his buckets and clean sheets, the soothing hands of Molly with her teas and her damp cloths and Sherlock…Sherlock seemed to always be there; A cool hand on the back of his forehead; Worried eyes looking into his; and in the dark of the night, reading aloud from classics.

On the third day, John awoke feeling clear headed and with his stomach settled. The swaying of the ship was now more reminiscent of a child’s swing than a galloping horse and his entire body now seemed in tune with the movement.

Rolling over in the now familiar sheets, John noticed for the first time the curly head of dark hair buried in the pillow next to him. Lying face-down, Sherlock looked very much like exhaustion had taken him unaware and he’d simply lapsed into unconsciousness the moment he touched the bed. There was a sense of heedless sprawl to his position and although it was clear that someone had kindly covered him with a blanket, he remained fully clothed underneath it, further evidence of the unplanned nature of his repose.

Nevertheless, staring at another man’s sleeping face on the pillow beside his wasn’t a situation he often found himself it. It wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, just…uncommon. Additionally, he certainly wasn’t used to waking up in this situation without prior agreement by both parties….no matter how much alcohol had been imbibed. But, he supposed these were fairly unique circumstances, him being in the Captain’s bed and all.

He was just indulging in a closer look at a particularly distinctive mole on Sherlock’s neck when the eyes opened and caught him at his unsolicited inspection.

“Good morning John.” The shaggy head didn’t make to rise from its cradle on the pillows.

“Ah…Good..morning.”

“You look better.”

“I feel better…thanks.” It seemed they weren’t going to discuss that they were laying bare inches apart, staring at each other in the morning light.

“I’m pleased.” Sherlock added simply, still not moving.

“I appreciate the way you…I mean Molly and Greg and you, looked after me.” It seemed suddenly important to include others in this intimate conversation.

“You’re welcome John. We’ve already become very fond of our Doctor. Wouldn’t do to have you incapacitated.”

John cleared his throat, “No, well. I wouldn’t be much use to anyone flat on my back for the entire voyage.” Too late, John realised how his words could be interpreted and his eyes widened in horror.

He needn’t have worried, after quick wide-eyed blink, Sherlock let out a snort and rolled onto his back, laughing delightedly, “No….No that wouldn’t do at all….would it?” He rolled back, eyes twinkling in mirth, “It’s good to have you back John, let’s get to work.”


	5. John's Ship's (B)log

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to a dear friend who has drawn the most beautiful front page for this fic. I love you   
> http://mrsdegoeyscreations.deviantart.com/art/A-Study-In-Piracy-489362602

Doctor John Watson - Trading ship 'The Baker' - Day 17

I am now acclimatised to life at sea after several unpleasant days abed. The crew have come to accept me as a permanent and functional member of their team and with the exception of several good-natured pranks in the early days, I have escaped unscathed from what Captain Holmes..Sherlock.. tells me can be a tortuous induction into the life of a seaman.

I find the sea air bracing and the regular and vigorous physical demands of all those on board have improved the condition of both my shoulder and my general physical wellbeing. To admit a little vanity in the privacy of this log, I'll note that I find it surprisingly gratifying to see evidence of muscles I thought long since slackened through life in the city.

On a similar topic, Captain Holmes impresses me with both his intellectual prowess as well as physical capabilities. There is no question in the minds of the crew who is in charge, Sherlock dominates them all through force of will, power of mind, and physical prowess. I'm embarrassed to admit that I find myself entranced with the man on a number of levels.

Sherlock's control of the vessel and her crew was tested for the first time yesterday when we ran afoul of a local pirate of some renown in these parts. She is simply known as 'The Woman' and her vessel flies the flag of a whip clasped in a clenched fist. She came at us without warning from the early morning fog and was upon us before the crew had a chance to make any preparations.

There were several moments of virtual panic as the first shot flew wide of our stern before Sherlock was suddenly and inexplicably there on the bridge like some sort of mythical hero from a Greek tale. As the wind blew his coat and hair around him, he shouted orders above the noise and his men ran to obey.

I'll freely admit I was shocked to immobility by equal parts awe of the man and confusion as to my role in the battle. Seemingly sensing my indecision, Sherlock pointed at me from above and motioned me toward a sheltered part of the vessel where Molly was already preparing for potential wounded. I moved without questioning, only pausing to nod grimly at Sherlock as his eyes moved away from me.

I'll not go into greater detail of the battle as Sherlock's Captain's log contains all that needs to be recorded. I'll simply say that we were both very lucky and very well led and we escaped with nothing more than a broken railing and three injured crewmen who will be sorely tested while broken bones heal in the weeks to come.

I find myself physically unharmed but emotionally, if you will excuse the poor humour, all-at-sea. I find myself overly attentive to our Captain's movements and moods and I am quite aware of a matching interest on his own part. I am seasoned enough to know that such a relationship between grown men is not uncommon, particularly upon long voyages, however I find myself less willing to approach the delicate conversation for fear of spoiling what is becoming a deep and respectful friendship between us. To sacrifice that camaraderie for the sake of slaking a base human need seems somehow wasteful of something I'm beginning to hold very dear.


	6. Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of rum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship-board life has settled into a routine. Which can't last for long, can it?

The life aboard The Baker fell into a comfortable routine. John awoke early and took a brisk walk around the deck, both to clear the stale cabin air from his lungs and to look out for any signs of misadventure overnight.

There’d been the odd occasion when he’d been woken in the dark of night, a crewman or woman being helped into his cabin with a variety of injuries. Cuts were common, breaks less so. One poor man had received a shocking hit to the head from a falling crate and for several tense nights, it looked like he’d never regain consciousness. At long last he’d awoken, but his speech was still slurred and his leg dragged behind him. John feared the man’s days at sea were behind him.

He’d increasingly been working closely with Molly, some of her herbs migrating to his treatment area and in exchange some of his supply of clean linens and splints made their way to hers. After he and Molly had made it clear that there was to be no hierarchy or competition between them, the crew had simply adapted to this by shuffling to whichever cabin was closer when ills befell them. If the injury needed an extra set of hands, then they worked seamlessly together for the good of all.

In his remaining time, he’d become something of an unofficial helpmeet to Sherlock. Trailing next to him while Sherlock outlined his thinking and plans, the tall man seemed to work through strategies better out loud and John’s enthusiasm to hear his voice seemed endless.

He’d acquired two nicknames on the ship. One the crew used in his presence and one that they thought he didn’t know about.

The first came after one of the crew jokingly mentioned John’s habit of following the Captain around like “The captain’s bleedin’ dog”, which consequently became blog Watson and in time just ‘The Captain’s blogger.’

The other, which the crew thought neither he nor Sherlock knew about, could only have originated from either Molly or Lestrade. Nobody else on the crew knew that for the majority of John’s three days confined with seasickness, he’d been wearing nothing but red underwear. The resulting nickname ‘Red-Pants Watson’ showed all the signs of staying with him for the duration of the trip.

@@@@@

John and Sherlock sat comfortably in the two padded chairs in Sherlock's cabin.

“So John, Red-Pants Watson. That’s a formidable pirate name if ever I heard one.” Sherlock poured a generous share of rum into John’s tankard and handed it to him.

John snorted. He really had no objection to the name, and if it gave the crew a harmless secret to keep from their Captain, then all the better for morale. “I can think of worse.”

“Snores-like-a-bull Watson……Poison-wind Watson.” Sherlock supplied helpfully.

“All of which I’ll thank you to keep to yourself. Don’t give the crew any other ideas or I’ll start making suggestions for suitable pirate names for you. I think Captain Blunt could catch on.”

“I’ve always fancied the pirate name of Redbeard. Do you think I could use that?” Sherlock asked, taking a large swig of his rum.

“There is absolutely nothing red about you….and you don’t have a beard…..so no.”

“The Chinese call me Captain Curly-fu. What about that?”

John nodded indulgently, “Now that has promise…but I’m still going with Captain Blunt, it suits you.”

Sherlock held up his tankard for a toast, “To Captain Blunt and Red-Pants Watson, the bane of the shipping lanes.”

“To Poison-wind Watson and Captain talks-in-his-sleep.” Metal tankards clanked.

Sherlock looked aghast, “I do not!”

“Yeah ya do.” John answered simply, taking another drink from his glass.

Silence fell in the cabin as Sherlock processed this piece of disturbing information, “Really?”

John smiled into his glass, the response muffled, “Yep.”

More silence before a quiet, “What do I say?”

In fact, John’s had absolutely no evidence whether or not Sherlock talked in his sleep, his experience being limited to a few stolen moments sharing the sheets when he awoke after three days. But John Watson never let the facts get in the way of a good story and Sherlock’s discomfort at the situation was an irresistible lure to John’s wicked sense of humour.

“Well,” John began, seeming unsure what he should reveal, “I’m not sure I should repeat….”

“Oh just tell me!” Sherlock blurted out, “Just say it.”

Taking up the challenge and unwilling to be bullied, John upped the ante with the first thing that came to mind, “You may have let slip that you find the arse of a certain crew member rather delightful.”

John had thought it wasn’t possible for Sherlock’s already pale skin to lose any more colour, but he’d been mistaken. In a rush, he blanched before colour flooded back up staining his neck and cheeks red.

“I…..John….” Sherlock struggled for words, “You mustn’t think…..well….” He cleared his throat as he pulled errant thoughts together, “That is, it’s only to be expected…you lying in bed next to me. I was clearly over-tired and I wouldn’t presume…..”

The temperature in the room seemed to have risen terribly suddenly and John’s thoughts tripped over themselves in his haste to backpedal, “Molly! I was talking about Molly! Sherlock….please… no….I didn’t mean.”

Sherlock blinked slowly, his eyes narrowing at John, “I see….” The calculating gaze was back in full force and John knew he was inches from being trapped, “So….I said” he leaned forward slowly, holding John’s gaze, “That I found Molly..” a pause, “…our cabin-boy Molly….desirable.”

John’s voice was barely a squeak, “Yes?”

Sherlock leaned still further forward, their knees almost touching, “Unlikely.”

Cursing himself for beginning this conversation John forced himself to ask, “Why?”

“Because, my dear Doctor Watson….it isn’t women’s arses I find delightful.”

_Well_ , thought John, _This is awkward._


End file.
